


Two Devils and a Detective

by Eledhwen



Series: Two Devils [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Crossover, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Having Faith, Not sure if this works, POV Multiple, Religion, Some jolly good sandwiches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen
Summary: The hotel was in a nice part of Manhattan; the 15th Precinct was not. The streets were grubby and raw as the cab passed by, and Chloe felt somehow too put-together when she got out, Lucifer sleek in Armani by her side.Yet a precinct was a precinct, even if the 15th was less shiny and new than hers, back in LA. The desk sergeant nodded when she asked for Detective Mahoney, and told them to wait on the plastic chairs in front of his desk.A sequel to a story I thought was a one-shot.
Series: Two Devils [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658164
Comments: 28
Kudos: 306





	Two Devils and a Detective

**Author's Note:**

> I've been picking away at this for weeks and have got it to a point where I'm sort of happy with it, although it meandered somewhat and ended up in a place I wasn't intending when I started it. I don't know if it works. Feedback appreciated. Probably worth reading the first one first, although not essential; I reference the earlier story in a vague sort of way a few times.

Chloe had tried to persuade Lucifer to fly a standard flight, but he had refused. They had crossed the country in luxury, with plenty of food and drink and space to relax, and so as they stepped off the private jet she felt surprisingly lively. There was a limo waiting for them on the tarmac.

“We can’t roll up to Hell’s Kitchen in a limo,” she protested.

Lucifer just looked at her. “Of course not. We can catch a cab from the hotel.”

Chloe went along with it, although she felt like protesting when she saw the size of her room at the fancy hotel Lucifer had insisted on booking. Nobody needed this much space while travelling.

She dumped her bag, changed her shirt and clipped badge and gun to her belt, and headed out.

The hotel was in a nice part of Manhattan; the 15th Precinct was not. The streets were grubby and raw as the cab passed by, and Chloe felt somehow too put-together when she got out, Lucifer sleek in Armani by her side.

Yet a precinct was a precinct, even if the 15th was less shiny and new than hers, back in LA. The desk sergeant nodded when she asked for Detective Mahoney, and told them to wait on the plastic chairs in front of his desk.

Chloe had spoken to Brett Mahoney on the phone, when it had turned out that her murder suspect had fled to New York and then been arrested for robbery. But she wasn’t sure what to expect. Mahoney turned out to be a neatly dressed black man with bags under his eyes and a weary demeanour, but he greeted her warmly enough.

“And my partner, Lucifer Morningstar,” Chloe said.

Detective Mahoney avoided any comments and merely shook hands with Lucifer who, Chloe was pleased to note, seemed to be on his best behaviour for some reason. She was fully prepared for him to go off-script, but for the time being, was just grateful her mercurial partner was keeping quiet.

“I’m afraid your guy’s lawyered up,” Mahoney said, leading the way out of the reception area.

“Public defender?” Chloe asked.

“Private,” said Mahoney, “and they’re good. Local firm. Small, but tenacious. You hear about Wilson Fisk?”

“Wasn’t he some big crime boss?” Chloe asked, with vague memories of watching the news.

“That’s the one. Had the FBI and half this precinct in the palm of his hand. These guys? Took him down. They’re Hell’s Kitchen boys, born and bred.”

“You almost sound proud of them,” Lucifer observed.

“It’s complicated,” Mahoney said. “They’re a pain in my ass, but if I was accused of a crime, I’d want them on my side too.” He held open the door to an interview room. “All yours. Take whatever time you need.”

Chloe thanked him, straightened her jacket, and went in.

Their suspect was handcuffed to the table and his lawyer was sitting by his side in a grey suit, cheap shirt (Chloe had started to get an eye for these things, spending so much time with Lucifer) and, incongruously for being inside, red shades. The shades were quickly explained by the folded white cane on the table next to his files.

The lawyer stood as they entered, smoothing down his tie with one hand and holding the other one out.

“You must be the detective from Los Angeles,” he said, and then twitched his head sideways as Lucifer followed Chloe in – almost as though he recognised her partner.

“Detective Decker,” said Chloe, taking the hand and shaking it briefly.

“Matthew Murdock,” the lawyer said.

Lucifer was, oddly, beaming at Murdock.

“Well hel _lo_ ,” he said, and Murdock’s lips quirked.

“Mr Morningstar,” he said. “What an unexpected surprise.”

Chloe looked from one to the other of them. “You two know each other?” she asked.

“I did a small property deal for Mr Morningstar, a couple of years ago,” Murdock said smoothly, and almost too quickly.

Lucifer shrugged. “That’s right, we met a couple of years ago,” he said, easily.

“Always good to have a break from defence work,” Murdock added.

“Should you be involved on this case?” Chloe queried, pulling a seat out and sitting down.

“As I understand it, Mr Morningstar is merely a civilian consultant,” Murdock said, “and he was a civil client. There should be no conflict of interest. Now, you have some questions for Mr Gutierrez?”

Chloe pushed back any reservations, and asked her questions. Their suspect answered some of them, but others were quickly quashed by Murdock, who proved to be an annoyingly adept opponent. He even, swiftly, put down Lucifer’s attempt at “what do you really desire?”, and Chloe would have laughed at the look on her partner’s face, if she hadn’t been so irritated with the lawyer.

Eventually, she gave up with what they had, and left the interview room.

Detective Mahoney was waiting for them outside.

“Get what you need?” he asked.

“No,” Chloe said. “The lawyer got in the way. Who the hell is he?”

“Local hero,” Mahoney said. “Got himself blinded when he was nine, saving some old guy from a chemical spill. Graduated Columbia. When Murdock finds himself someone he wants to defend, he really defends.”

Chloe sighed. “Well, we’ll be back tomorrow. We’ve come too far not to try again.”

“No problem,” Mahoney agreed.

Out on the street, Chloe rounded on Lucifer. “What the _hell_ , Lucifer? How was he ever your lawyer?”

Lucifer extracted his hip flask from his suit pocket and took a long drag before replying. “He told you.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Chloe said, “and I think it’s because you’re trying not to lie to me. You’re happy for the lawyer to lie, though.”

“I can tell you, but you won’t believe me,” Lucifer grumbled. “Suffice to say, I know who he is, and he knows who I am, and that’s really all that should matter.”

“Not if it’ll prejudice the case,” Chloe persisted.

Lucifer adjusted his cufflinks. “My dear Detective, I promise you, it won’t prejudice the case. Now, please tell me there’s someone else we need to go and interview?”

There was. They spent the rest of the day in increasingly fruitless interviews with various witnesses and acquaintances of their suspect, which got them no further than establishing when he arrived in New York. Their desires were myriad and mundane, but Chloe ended the day no more certain that they were after the right guy.

Night had fallen and the general grim-ness of the neighbourhood seemed to be accentuated as they came out of the block where their last interview had been.

“Back to the hotel?” Chloe asked, looking about them. The street was empty with no sign of a cab.

Lucifer pulled out his phone. “I’ll call an Uber,” he said, tapping away. “Ten minutes, I’m afraid.”

Chloe folded her arms about herself, and wondered how safe the streets were in Hell’s Kitchen.

Lucifer kept up a running commentary on the progress of their Uber, peering at the screen of his phone – and maybe it was the phone which drew the gang to them. In any case, Lucifer had just announced their car was three minutes out when two mopeds screeched to a halt beside them, and they were surrounded by four men in helmets. One of them had a gun.

Chloe drew hers and by instinct put her back against Lucifer’s.

“LAPD,” she said, out of habit. “Put the gun down.”

“We’re in New York, sweetheart,” the man with the gun sneered.

“Put the gun down!” Chloe repeated. Lucifer took a step forwards, and she hissed at him to stop, but he had that look on his face which said he wasn’t going to listen to her.

“Phones and cash,” said one of the men.

“All my cash?” Lucifer asked, calmly. He made to put his hand in his jacket pocket, still advancing on one of the men, who held out a hand.

Then two things happened at once. Lucifer’s hand shot out of his jacket pocket and thudded hard into the would-be mugger’s face. At the same time, someone – or something – dropped from the fire escape above them and took out the man with the gun with a sweeping, roundhouse kick that sent the pistol flying and knocked him to the ground.

Chloe took the opportunity to move in on another of the muggers. By the time she had tackled him to the floor and snapped her handcuffs on him, the other three were groaning on the floor, clutching various bits of their bodies. Lucifer was wiping his hands with his pocket handkerchief, and the stranger who had appeared from nowhere was hovering nearby in a shadow.

She remembered reading about the so-called Devil of Hell’s Kitchen on some internet site, but had paid little attention to the story apart from wondering why the local cops tolerated a vigilante in their area.

Chloe got her phone out and called 911. “You okay?” she asked Lucifer.

“Absolutely, Detective.”

She turned to the man in black, but there were already sirens approaching down the street and all she saw of him was a flicker as he vanished up a nearby fire escape.

Detective Mahoney was philosophical about the mugging attempt.

“Not so many folk in fancy suits like yours round this way, Mr Morningstar,” he said. “Fancy suit and a fancy phone, it’s a siren call for violence.”

“And what about the guy who helped us out?” Chloe asked. “What do we do about him? And where did he come from?”

Mahoney made a peculiar sort of face. “Our resident devil doesn’t tend to hang around waiting for cops,” he said. “We’ve had our run-ins, me and him, but if he doesn’t want to be caught, he won’t be caught. None of us really want to catch him, in any case. What he does – it’s assault, and he’s brutal, but he only goes after the guilty.”

He pulled over a uni and directed him to take Chloe and Lucifer back to their hotel, but Lucifer, straightening his jacket, demurred.

“Bed, at this hour?” he said, with a hint of a leer in Chloe’s direction. She rolled her eyes at him.

“I have work to do, and it is late,” she said.

“Then by all means,” Lucifer said, and held open the door of the cruiser. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Detective.”

“Where are you going?” Chloe asked.

“For a drink,” he said, pulling out his hipflask and turning it upside down to demonstrate its emptiness.

Chloe sighed, and shrugged. “Okay. Whatever. I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby at eight-thirty. Don’t be late, Lucifer.”

“Swear to Dad, I won’t be late,” he said, and Chloe sighed again and got into the cruiser. Some arguments just weren’t worth the effort.

* * *

Lucifer watched the cruiser drive off, and tucked his empty hipflask back in his jacket pocket. “Where would you recommend for a drink around here?” he asked Detective Mahoney, who was still nearby.

“Round here?” Mahoney said, and quite evidently jumped to the conclusion that Lucifer would turn his nose up at most of the Hell’s Kitchen bars. “Um. Don’t go to Josie’s. There’s a bar down the street, the Styx Saloon, you could try there, maybe.”

Lucifer, amused by the name, thanked the policeman and headed off in the direction suggested, before taking an abrupt detour into an alleyway, where he stopped and lit a cigarette, and waited.

It did not take long. Within a few minutes, and before the cigarette was dead, a dark figure appeared from the shadows and approached. Lucifer dropped the cigarette and ground it out under the sole of his Louboutins.

“I thought you might find me here,” he said. “Thanks for the help earlier, although I’m sure we could have managed. The Detective and I are a good team, you know.”

Matthew Murdock tilted a mask-clad head and quirked a lip at Lucifer. “This is my city.”

“And you punish those who need punishing, I know,” Lucifer said. “You told me last time. So why defend that man?”

“He’s innocent,” Murdock said.

“You seem very sure,” Lucifer responded.

Murdock shrugged. “I know when someone’s telling the truth. He’s telling the truth. He’s not your murderer.”

“How do you know, for sure?” demanded Lucifer – although Murdock certainly _sounded_ sure.

“Remember when you dropped in on me, couple of years back?” Murdock asked. “I knew you were telling the truth, then, about who you … about who you are.”

Lucifer nodded. “I never lie.”

Murdock’s mouth twisted. “No, you don’t, do you? You didn’t like having to talk around the details of how we know each other, earlier. I listen to heartbeats, I can tell when people are nervous. The only thing you’re worried about is what Detective Decker is thinking.”

“I don’t think worried is precisely the word,” Lucifer objected.

Murdock tightened the ropes bound around his hands. “Well. In any case, my client did not kill your victim.”

Lucifer advanced a few steps. “So help us out. The sooner the Detective gets what she needs, the sooner we can get back to LA.”

“Got a problem with Hell’s Kitchen?” Murdock asked, a hint of humour in his voice. “Would have thought it was exactly the place for you.”

“It’s a name borne of cliché,” Lucifer objected. “It’s nothing like Hell, for which you can all be devoutly grateful, I assure you. What does your man know?”

Murdock shrugged. “Too much. It’s a gang crime, your murder, and he’s terrified of the gang. I won’t force him to speak. And I won’t allow you to force him, with whatever it is you do.”

“I don’t force people to do anything,” Lucifer objected. “I just encourage them to unburden themselves.” He looked at Murdock. “I would _love_ to know what you really desire …”

“Forget it,” Murdock said, bluntly. “You tried. It won’t work on me.” He shifted his weight. “Look. I’ll think about it. I’ll call Detective Decker, if my client’s happy to talk more. But –” he lifted his head, and the sightless gaze of the mask fixed on Lucifer’s face, “you don’t tell her who Daredevil is. That’s a secret which stays between you and me.”

“It’s a deal,” Lucifer said, and held out his hand. Murdock, after a second, took it in his rope-bound palm, and then let go and with a bound on to the nearby dumpster and then the fire escape above it was gone.

Lucifer turned, and went to find a bar. His hipflask was, after all, still empty.

* * *

“Are you sure?” Matt asked, for the third time. He hated the feeling that he’d given into temptation, somehow, or at least just given in to get Lucifer Morningstar off his back. The knowledge of who the man really was – or what he really was – stuck in his gorge. That, along with the clear memory of the stench of brimstone which had filled Matt’s nostrils, the day Lucifer had turned up on a rooftop and then thrown the curveball of actually being the Devil at him.

“They ain’t got nothing on me in LA,” his client asserted, “and I don’t want to be stepped on by the gangs no more. I’ll tell the cute detective what she wants to know.”

“I’ll give them a call,” Matt said. “Cute, is she?”

“Hell yeah, but that partner of hers looks super-possessive,” his client said.

“I’m sure he is,” agreed Matt. “Okay, wait here, I’ll call and get them over.”

Chloe Decker and her partner were quick to arrive. There was no brimstone hanging about Lucifer this morning, Matt noted: instead, he smelt of hotel shampoo and expensive cologne and the wool and silk of his clothing. The same hotel shampoo scent clung to Detective Decker, and she sounded relieved as she came into the interview room and shook Matt’s hand with a firm, strong grip.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk,” she said, to his client. “Mr Murdock, thanks for arranging this.”

“My client has a couple of stipulations, before we begin,” Matt said. “He’ll tell you what he saw, that night in LA, but he doesn’t want his name linked to it. You go back, you find the evidence, he stays out of it.”

“If that’s possible, sure,” Decker said. “I just want to catch the murderer.”

She and Lucifer pulled out chairs and sat down; Matt started up his voice recorder as Decker scribbled a note in her pad.

“So,” Decker said, “where were you on the night of May 14th?”

She was good, Matt had to give her that; thorough, calm, considered. Lucifer let her talk, though occasionally Matt heard him shift, or fiddle with cufflinks, and once take out a metal flask for a drink. The heady scent of good whiskey filled the room before the stopper went back on and the flask back in Lucifer’s breast pocket.

Finally, the detective seemed to have what she wanted, and she closed her pad.

“We’re good?” asked Matt.

“If Mr Gutierrez is telling the truth, yeah,” Decker said.

Matt had been listening. “He’s telling the truth,” he said.

“Excellent,” said Lucifer, standing up and pushing his chair back with a scrape on the floor. “Then we can get home, Detective.”

When he left the interview room, Matt found the detective and the Devil in conversation with Brett Mahoney. “Assuming his testimony is backed up by evidence, we won’t be looking to extradite him back to California,” Decker was saying.

“So just the theft charge here, then,” Mahoney said.

“Of which he’ll be found not guilty,” said Matt, grinning at Mahoney. “Come on, Brett, you haven’t got enough evidence. The DA won’t want to bring it to trial.”

“Let’s let the DA decide that, Murdock,” Mahoney returned.

“Looking forward to it,” Matt said. “By the way, tell your mom that Nelson’s has just got in some of that salami she likes.”

At the word salami Decker’s stomach made an audible growl. Matt stifled a smile, and turned to her. “It must be nearly lunchtime. I can recommend the best sandwiches in the city, if you like.”

Decker hesitated for a moment and then said, “sure. Since we’re off the clock now. Lucifer, when can we fly home?”

“This evening, I should think,” Lucifer said, his fingers on his phone.

“Plenty of time for lunch,” said Matt, unfolding his cane. “Follow me.”

He led them out of the precinct and turned left, the LA visitors by his side. Decker walked with a determined, steady pace and on her other side the leather soles of Lucifer’s shoes were quiet on the sidewalk.

“So how’d you get into criminal defence?” Decker asked.

“Disliked the corporate lifestyle,” Matt said. “How’d you get into the police?”

“My dad was a cop,” she said. “I tried acting for a bit, but, you know, it wasn’t for me.”

“She was good,” Lucifer put in. “You’ve missed out, not seeing her films.”

“You really haven’t,” said Decker, but there was a smile in her voice.

They were coming up to the butcher’s, and Matt focused to see if Foggy and Karen were in. They were, bickering amicably upstairs about the approach to take in a case. In the shop, Theo was serving a customer.

“Hey, Matty,” he said, as Matt came in with Decker and Lucifer.

“Can you do us some sandwiches?” Matt asked. “I’ll have pastrami.”

“Salami and cheese, please,” said Decker, sounding like she approved of the shop.

“Salt beef,” said Lucifer, after a moment, and unfolding bills. Matt decided to let him pay, and was pleased to hear the extra sound of a note being folded into the tip jar by the counter.

“Thanks,” Theo said, a note of slight awe in his voice, and Matt resolved to find out later how much the tip had been.

Once they all had their sandwiches, Matt led Decker and Lucifer into the back room.

“It’s not much like most lawyers’ offices,” Decker observed, unwrapping her sandwich.

“It’s temporary,” said Matt. “We have offices upstairs. We’re just getting back on our feet. We had a … a kind of hiatus.”

Decker did not ask for more details, although Matt could feel Lucifer’s gaze on him. He wondered what it would be like to have that gaze delving into his soul, trying to extract information, and decided he was glad not to know.

They were all silent for a while, eating their lunch. Matt made a mental note to talk to Theo about a different pickle supplier – he rather thought the current ones were not sterilising their jars adequately.

Lucifer’s phone buzzed, and he put down the end of his sandwich to check it.

“We fly at 10 this evening,” he told Decker. “I’ll make sure they make up some beds for us on the plane. Car at 8.30 from the hotel, perhaps?”

Matt felt his watch, and made a decision – yet another sudden decision, the latest in a series which he was sure he would come to regret. It was something about having Lucifer around which clearly had some impact on him.

“Mr Morningstar,” he said, crumpling his sandwich paper and almost throwing it into the trashcan before remembering just in time that, for Decker, he was supposed to be an ordinary blind man, “remember how you expressed an interest to invest in more New York property, after your last purchase? I was wondering if you had time to come and see a place, before you go?”

“I did?” said Lucifer.

“Did you?” Decker asked, suspicion in her voice.

“Very probably,” Lucifer said lightly. “Now go on, Detective, I’m sure you have tons of paperwork to catch up on. The hotel room’s booked until the morning.”

Once she had gone, Lucifer turned to Matt. “What’s this really about?” he asked, clipped British accent cool.

Matt picked up his balled sandwich paper and this time, did throw it away, tossing it over his shoulder and grinning when it landed neatly in the basket.

“Two years ago I told you about my priest,” he said. “I always thought he’d love to meet you. He’d have been fascinated.” He thought of Father Lantom. “He died. But there’s someone else who I think would be equally interested. If you’re up for it.”

Lucifer laughed. “My dear Mr Murdock, I am _always_ up for it.”

Matt parsed this, grimaced, and stood up. “Follow me, then,” he said.

* * *

Lucifer tried to find out a bit more about who Matt Murdock was taking him to meet, but the lawyer was infuriatingly evasive as he led the way along the grubby Hell’s Kitchen sidewalks. He was using the cane, but clearly did not need it, although it served as a neat method of keeping everyone else out of their way.

After perhaps 10 minutes of walking, Murdock came to a halt outside a church. He seemed, suddenly, hesitant.

“You can go into a church?” he asked.

“I’m not a bloody vampire,” Lucifer returned. “I’ve been into plenty of churches over the years, and so far, my dear old dad has not complained. But then he doesn’t speak to me at all these days, so it’s hardly a surprise.”

“Right,” Murdock said. “Your father. Right.” He squared his shoulders. “If you’re not going to burst into flames or anything, that’s just as well.”

It was a nice enough church, as churches went; Catholic, but not overly gaudy, with the usual spattering of crucifixes and gilded incense burners. Murdock went through the whole rigmarole of crossing himself and bending a knee at the altar before leading Lucifer through a door and down a stairway into the church’s underbelly.

Lucifer could hear a woman singing softly to herself – a hymn, he thought. She had a nice enough voice, and the acoustics in the vaulted chamber were good. They came around a corner and the woman stopped singing and looked up from folding laundry, a smile breaking across her face.

“Matthew!” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Murdock twisted the cane in his hand. “Are you busy?” he asked.

“Nothing which can’t be halted,” said the woman – the nun, Lucifer realised. She turned to Lucifer, appraisal in her eyes. “Who’s your friend?”

“Lucifer. Morningstar,” Lucifer said, advancing and holding out his hand with a smile.

The nun took it, an eyebrow raised. “Your parents had a weird sense of humour, Mr Morningstar.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Lucifer agreed, holding on to her hand for a moment.

“Sister Maggie,” the nun introduced herself. “I’m, erm …”

“This is my mom,” Murdock put in.

Lucifer glanced at him, and then back at Sister Maggie, and back at Murdock, noting the same set about the lips and shoulders. She was tiny, he was lean.

“You are more fascinating by the moment, Mr Murdock,” he said, delighted by the situation.

“Fascinating?” Sister Maggie said. “Infuriating, more like.” But there was fondness in her expression. “Matthew, why have you brought your oddly named friend to see me?”

“I thought you’d find him interesting,” Murdock said, perching on the edge of a table.

“I think he was amused by introducing me to a nun,” Lucifer added. “Shall we start again? I’m Lucifer Morningstar.”

Sister Maggie looked hard at him, and then laughed and shook her head. “We run an orphanage here, not a home for patients with delusions. Even the most charming ones.”

“I don’t think he’s deluded,” Murdock said, softly.

“Matthew,” the nun said.

Murdock tilted his head in Lucifer’s direction. “Can you … show her?” he asked.

Lucifer shrugged. “I could, but why should I? Why does this matter to you, apart from the obvious novelty factor?”

“I’ve had a few crises of faith, over the years,” Murdock said. “But even when I’ve doubted what God thinks of me, and what I do, at least I know He’s there. And that helps. Even if the fact He’s your … well, that perhaps I haven’t come to terms with yet. I’d like my mother to have that same certainty.”

Lucifer found himself marvelling at the sheer bloody-mindedness of the man. “Lucky you,” he said. “I wish he weren’t there.” He cast a look upwards at the ceiling.

“Additionally,” said Murdock, his tone persuasive in a way that Lucifer recognised, “I’ve helped you out twice in the last day. Perhaps you owe me a favour.”

This, Lucifer considered, was probably the case; and far be it for him not to repay a favour. He gave the room a once-over, and stepped back away from the laundry baskets to an empty space between two vaults.

“If this breaks her, it’s your fault,” he told Murdock, and shrugged his wings into existence. A candle holder on one wall went flying and shattered on the floor. “I can pay for that,” Lucifer said.

Sister Maggie was staring, her eyes wide underneath her veil and her hand clutching the simple wooden cross around her neck. Murdock, on the other hand, had a frown on his face.

“It’s different,” he said.

“I chose to show your mother something other than my face,” Lucifer said. “It’s still proof.”

Murdock came up to him, and held out a hand. “May I?”

“Watch the primaries, they’re sharp,” Lucifer said, and watched with interest as Murdock put out a careful hand and touched a feather. The nun had still not said anything.

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt,” Murdock said, with awe, pulling his hand away.

Lucifer rolled his shoulders and let the wings vanish. “Sister?” he said, carefully.

“We live in a world of aliens and superpowers,” she said, after a moment. “Why should I be surprised that angels and devils exist too?”

“Devil, singular, _please_ ,” said Lucifer, but glad she was okay, because he wasn’t sure he had the time to deal with a melted-down nun. Not today, and probably not ever.

Sister Maggie laughed, and shook her head. “Of course it makes sense that Daredevil knows the actual Devil.”

“He found me,” Murdock put in.

“How are you even here?” the nun asked Lucifer.

“Here as in in this church, or in Hell’s Kitchen?” Lucifer asked.

“Standing in front of me, in a suit,” Sister Maggie said, and she picked up a shirt and started to fold it.

“I’m on vacation,” Lucifer said. He pulled out his flask – it felt appropriate. “You’re handling this very well, Sister.”

Sister Maggie folded her shirt, and put it in a basket, and picked up another one. “Maybe it’s the only way to handle it.”

“Most people wouldn’t agree with you,” Lucifer said, looking from one Murdock to the other with a sense of astonishment and vague awe. “Most people tend to turn into gibbering wrecks, yet you two …”

“I wouldn’t say either myself or Matthew are most people,” Sister Maggie observed. “It may take me some time to really process this, but seeing … you … it doesn’t change much in my worldview. I always believed.”

“In what?”

She paused in her folding. “In the existence of heaven and hell, good and evil. I’ve seen it on the streets and in our church. I saw evil the day our priest was murdered. It’s part of human nature.”

“He says,” Murdock put in, “that he himself is not evil, but that he punishes evil.”

The nun sent her son a very direct look. “ _He_ is standing right here, Matthew.” She turned back to Lucifer. “History is written by the victors, they say.”

“I wasn’t the victor,” Lucifer said, shrugging. “I fought for free will. I lost. Hell was my punishment. In turn, I get to punish the real evil-doers – and those who think they’re evil-doers. Sometimes they’re even the same people.”

“Sometimes they are,” she agreed. “Sometimes they’re not.” She gave Murdock a significant glance.

Murdock’s fingers played around the handle of his cane. “Last time, you told me that guilt will send people to Hell, right?”

Lucifer nodded.

“Oh,” said Sister Maggie. “Well, I’ve told you often enough, Matthew, you shouldn’t feel guilt for what’s out of your control.”

“No,” he said, “and neither should you.”

Lucifer, for once, held back and watched them. This was something between the two of them. Murdock sighed, and stood straighter. “I know you couldn’t help what happened, after I was born,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. And yeah, maybe you should have said something, after Dad died and I came here, but if we both keep hanging on to that it’s going to colour everything we say to each other.” He took a deep breath. “I forgive you.”

Sister Maggie clutched at her crucifix again, and lifted her eyes to the ceiling – not to the ceiling, thought Lucifer, to _Dad_ – and she murmured a “thank God”.

Murdock smiled a little. “No, thank Lucifer, for opening my eyes. Figuratively,” he said, with a broader smile.

Adjusting his cuffs, Lucifer took a step forward and met Sister Maggie’s intelligent brown eyes. “And now that’s happened, what do you truly desire in your life?” he asked, feeling the familiar tug as she returned his gaze. He exerted a little pressure, and her resistance failed.

“To be able to forgive myself, for abandoning my child,” she said. “And to be able to enjoy the time we have together and not worry that he’ll be killed, or arrested.”

Lucifer broke eye contact, and she put a hand to her forehead. Murdock was looking fairly stricken; Lucifer pulled out his hipflask and proffered it.

“That was cruel,” the lawyer said, after drinking, and passing the flask back. Lucifer offered it to the nun, but she held a hand up and refused.

“That was honesty,” Lucifer said, to Murdock. To the nun, he added, “forgive yourself. Neither of you deserve eternity in Hell.”

He gave them a small bow, and left, because the atmosphere was far too tense for his liking, and it was time to check up on the Detective before catching the plane home. Neither mother nor son seemed to notice his departure.

* * *

Chloe settled into her seat on the plane with a deep sigh. She had finished her paperwork just as the limo arrived to take them to the airport, and she felt bone-tired. Lucifer had been in a quiet mood since he came back from Hell’s Kitchen, and she prodded his leg now with her foot to get his attention.

“Hey. Where did that lawyer take you?” she asked him.

“Hmm?” Lucifer looked up from his phone. “Oh, to meet his mother.”

Chloe frowned at him. “To meet his mom?”

“She’s a nun,” said Lucifer, as though that explained anything.

“I guess he thought it would be funny to see how she took being introduced to someone called Lucifer,” Chloe mused. “How did she take it?”

Her partner seemed thoughtful. “Surprisingly well.” He leaned his head back as the plane began its taxi. “Yes. In the end, Detective, I think I am rather glad we came here.”

Chloe leaned her own head back.

“If we solved the case,” she said, “so am I.”

“We solved something,” Lucifer said. “Now, Detective, try and get some sleep, won’t you? We’ve got a murder suspect to catch when we get home.”


End file.
